


Fragile Reflection

by SakuraWindChime



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Emotional, Gen, One Shot, Pre-Series, Tears, Young Victor Nikiforov, hair cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 10:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10216019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraWindChime/pseuds/SakuraWindChime
Summary: Young Viktor Nikiforov’s beauty and grace were revered by all within the ice skating world. But, all of those expectations are too much for someone of his age to bear.Viktor appears on the scene with his stunning silver locks shorn away and that world is shaken and ached to know why.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little one shot exploring why Viktor cut his hair in his youth to keep my creative juices flowing while I drown in uni work >.

“Viktor.”

“Mr. Nikiforov!”

“Champion!”

“Gold medal winner yet again…”

“Outstanding.”

Numerous voices swam around his mind. They filled his thoughts full of noise, throwing a rampage against his rational thinking. His feelings. Such expectation. So _many_ expectations. Their reporter callings were just as cold as the ice below his body. Their probing questions devoid of emotion and any actual care of the _person_ they shoved their microphones in front of.

There was no compassion, no real love.

Ridiculously bright lights of camera flashes still stung behind Viktor’s closed lids. Seemingly forever scarred onto his retinas.

This life he had chosen for himself as an ice figure skater, who the media professed as a prodigy. Committing himself to the public eye ever since he earned his first medal during his Junior days. Viktor had not been knocked from the podium since. With each competition, each year that went by, his once genuine smile moulded into the plastered fake the gluttonous public never seemed to tire of, could never get enough of.

Viktor Nikiforov loved skating and he loved the ice. He poured his life, soul, sweat, and blood into the frozen cold, glistening surface. It once yielded to him so much pure joy. Well, it still did.

But, it was different now.

Viktor lifted up his head and opened his ocean eyes. The young man sat against the hard barrier of the rink, the back of his head hitting against the freezing metal with a dull thud which echoed around the empty space. His legs were splayed out in front of him and the cold from the ice seeped through his thin jogging trousers. The fabric was soaked with the water that had melted from his body heat, only worsening the feeling of the cold wetness that chilled him to his very bones.

His fatigued eyes stared across the barren expanse of the room. Its empty shell, so hollow that the slightest sound resonated loudly across it. So devoid of anyone to warm it, seemingly reflecting the feeling within Viktor’s own chest. His unmatched soul.

Coach Yakov had long ago given the young man the key to the ice rink, that they semi-permanently rented out, in their home city of Saint Petersburg. Secretly, of course. It would have been seen as favouritism from Yakov’s other students if he only allowed for Viktor to have extra training time. But, the older man, like a surrogate father to Viktor, had known even back in Viktor’s teens that the ice provided some sort of solace, for the lonely boy, which he could not find anywhere else.

Tears welled up around the rims of his eyes. He really wanted his mother. His dear, beautiful mother who had ignited his adoration for ice skating. Seeing her smile as he had improved as a child on the ice had been Viktor’s everything. But, she was gone and she had taken a part of him with her when she went.

Viktor had been gifted his beloved poodle, Makkachin, shortly after. He cherished his pet and sought the warm comfort of his living body every day where he could not find it with other humans.

But, it was not enough when the entire ice skating world adored him, and yet they did not adore _him_. The real him. They did not, could not provide the kind of unconditional, unwavering love he _so_ desperately craved.

Viktor let out a bitter laugh, that travelled shrilly around the rink, as tears trailed down his youthful skin. It was funny how so many can ‘love’ an idol and yet it was the most lonely feeling in the world. Because if that idol made one slip up, one failure to meet those high expectations, then that superficial ‘love’ would shatter into nothingness and dedicate that idol to a forgotten oblivion. Just for them to greedily latch onto another promising figure.

One would think that an ice skaters’ heart was as resilient as the ice that they skated on every day. Somehow transferring its properties onto their sorely trained bodies. But, their hearts were not. Their hearts were more like their glassy reflection on the white, compacted ground. Crystalline ice easily broken under the swift chase of a metal blade. Fragile, oh so fragile, and needing special care to be put back together. And yet there was no-one in the world who could help reform Viktor’s and he felt _so_ alone.

Long locks of hair fell from where they had been resting on his shoulder, tickling Viktor’s cheek and arms where they rested wrapped around his torso. He lifted a hand to play with the ends of his uniquely silver hair, coloured as such despite his young age.

 _They_ all adored the long, perfect locks that reached the small of his back. _They_ went mad over how he could be both masculine and feminine in one glance, one movement of his lithe body. _They_ revered him as some sort of god of the ice. An ethereal being. But, he was just him. Just Viktor, and that was all he wanted them to view him as. Just like his mother had. Instead of this elevated, untouchable person the media had extracted him to be. It was even difficult to find friends who did not want to be close to Viktor only for his name and the status that he brought them.

Light glinted off the utensil Viktor had grabbed in his emotional frenzy to get to the ice, catching his attention. It had been an impulsive decision, a quick flitting of thought, and yet as he had sat on the ice the decision had become determination. A cry for help that would fall on deaf ears.

He reached out to pick up the scissors, laid beside him on the ice, with his right hand. It surprised Viktor that his hands were not shaking from what he was about to do, despite his inner turmoil.

The aching pain with his chest.

He will show the world that he is Viktor Nikiforov, a person of his own mind and that he was not a doll to be doted on. Dressed and preened to how they wanted him.

He would be there to surprise and surprise, over and over, as they waited on baited breath for his next movement, the next act.

Viktor clutched at a clump of his silver hair, tenderly lifting it away from his body so it sat suspended in the air. He took a deep breath and drew the scissors close, opening their blades.

If they did not want to try and know the human who belonged to the name, then he would make the name. So, that then they could not even try to get into his head. Cannot ever know the real feelings of the figure skater prodigy who was always charming, always smiling. Because this was his control.

 _His_ life.

Strong fingers drew the scissor handles closed and snipped. Silver strands fell weightlessly onto his lap and the ice.

Tears fell with each closing of the blade. Their droplets mingling with the growing pile of soft hair that fluttered downward, coating his body and the ground like snow.

Viktor cried, mourning the loss of his childhood and the loss of his innocence with each chunk of hair that were released from their hold.

The heaviness left Viktor with each snip, as his shorter strands of hair sprung up with new found vitality. Bringing with them a new era of pretence and pretend, acting for the masses.

He worked his way around his head, as his ocean eyes became puffed and red. Not even relenting his punishment when his mobile phone lit up beside him and violently vibrated, as it slid slightly on the ice.

Viktor punished the ice skating world and shed their expectations. The deed was done and his chest hitched when he found that there were no more tears to cry. He became as cold and lifeless as the ice. He raised the guard around his heart, to protect it from his own fragility.

The young man stared at his new fragile reflection in the ice, accepted it and lost his life and love with it.

**Author's Note:**

> I was an emotional mess writing this one shot, honestly.  
> It was inspired by a piece of Yuri!!! on Ice artwork that my friend described to me of Viktor cutting his hair, crying, and his phone was lit up beside him, but she could not find it anymore! If any of you know of the artwork, please link it to me in the comments and I can properly thank and credit the artist :D
> 
> Also please let me know what you thought of this one shot, or how you're feeling (totally sorry if I wrecked you too), as I'm thinking of doing more one shots! Or, shoot me some prompts - I'd definitely love those!
> 
> Want to talk to me about fanfiction, anime, or just anything? Check out my social media:
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SakuraWindChime)   
>  [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/Sakurawindchime)   
>  [deviantART](http://sakurawindchime.deviantart.com)   
> 


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